


Eloquence

by delawana



Series: Time to be Storytellers Weekly Prompts [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Archery, Awkward Flirting, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 17:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delawana/pseuds/delawana
Summary: Inquisitor Lavellan convinces Cullen to have a drink at the Herald's Rest, which rapidly turns into three. Drunken archery is involved.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Time to be Storytellers Weekly Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518038
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	Eloquence

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [Reddit Weekly Prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/dragonage/comments/dqk9g3/spoilers_alloctime_to_be_storytellers_the_dragon/) "Awkward flirting, a soft laugh, flushed cheeks, inwardly smug and pleased." as part of the love interest POV theme.

“Come here often, Commander?” asked a lilting voice to the left of him as he sat alone at the bar of the Herald’s Rest. He knew who it was without needing to look: Inquisitor Lavellan. She had her left elbow up on the bar and was resting her chin in her hand, looking at him from a rather adorable tilted angle. _No, not adorable, don’t think adorable._

“I, uh… no more often than anyone else.”

“Relax, Cullen, it’s a joke,” she said with a grin.

Of course he knew it was a joke. He considered himself quite a humorous individual, usually. But when she was around all the words he wanted to say got twisted up and never seemed to come out right and made him feel rather like a dense fool. She must wonder what sort of simpleton commanded her army.

“Barkeep! Two shots please!”

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t, I have to be up early tomorrow.” Though he tried to refuse, his stammered excuses only seemed to egg her on.

“Everyone in this tavern needs to be up early. Come join the ranks of the helplessly hungover for one day.”

He looked at her seriously, trying to summon up a glare with the full knowledge that he was failing miserably. The way she was smiling at him prevented such sternness. “I don’t believe I’m supposed to know that, let alone participate.”

“Cullen,” she said coaxingly, drawing out the syllables as though it was an argument in and of itself.

Something about the way she generally called him by his first name - calling him ‘Commander’ only in a teasing, tongue in cheek way that made him feel like he commanded nothing - felt so familiar and _right_. He of course knew her name, but never dared say it, barely permitting himself to even think of her by it - she was the Inquisitor, and propriety must be maintained. He must disconnect himself from her somehow.

“One drink,” he said firmly, holding his finger up to emphasize his point.

  


* * *

  


Three drinks later he had resigned himself to the fact that the next morning would be terrible.

The Inquisitor’s face was flushed and he could feel heat in his own cheeks as well, though whether that was from the alcohol or from the ridiculous drinking game involving guessing which of three (generally trending toward inappropriate) statements was a lie was uncertain. She was still giggling over his last confession. Before she had a chance to ask for her empty glass to be refilled, he cut her off and told her that he was taking her to her quarters. Her mouth opened like she was about to speak and then she closed it again with another giggle over some private joke that he didn’t seem to be privy to.

"Will you now?" she said with a teasing look in her eyes and playful smile on her lips.

He felt his eyes widening with some degree of horror. "Not like that!"

She just laughed.

As they walked out into the courtyard the Inquisitor spun herself around on the grass, her steps clumsy and yet also somehow charming. “Is there anything lovelier than cool night air on a clear evening with stars sparkling overhead, Cullen?”

It was a nice night, he could agree with that, but there was definitely something lovelier: her. Three drinks ago he might have repressed the thought, but now he was forced to admit to himself that he was a lovestruck fool.

Something caught her eye towards the back of the tavern and she tripped lightly away from the stairs leading inside the castle. On following her he discovered that some of the recruits had left their bows out by the training dummies; in the morning he would have to find out who and ensure that they were aware of the grievousness of their actions as the morning’s dew would cause them to need repair.

“What could be better than midnight, tipsy archery?” she said with some enthusiasm, picking up a bow and handing him another. Most things. Most things could be better. This was a terrible idea. And yet he knew that he wouldn’t argue against it, intoxicated as he was by more than just alcohol. “Closest to the center, best of three.”

“Well that’s hardly fair.” He meant to say something clever, at least tell her that since it was her primary weapon and not his she would have the advantage, but all that came out was, “You’re good at shooting.”

She chuckled softly, appearing to find some humour in his ineloquence and loosed the first arrow, landing just to the left of the bullseye on her target. “Damn, must have drank more than I thought,” she said, catching his eye and grinning.

Feeling her eyes watching him intently, he loosed his arrow more nervously than he usually would and it went wide of the mark, sticking in an outer ring.

She clicked her tongue at him. “And here I thought this would be a challenge!”

“It’s… I’m just getting started,” he said in an attempt to banter back through his embarrassment. He would have to make a note to increase the time he spent practicing archery.

The Inquisitor stood at the mark again. Her willowy but muscular form was graceful and elegant as she drew the bow like it was as natural as breathing, staring at the target with steady determination. Her arrow stuck dead in the center and she cheered, then stumbled a little as she turned around and leaned against him for support, laughing loudly, all gracefulness having departed.

“Are you sure we should trust you with a bow in this state?” he said with a smirk.

“Tell me that again when you hit the bullseye!”

His next shot was closer, but still slightly too low. He waited for her to tease him but she had already turned away and was aiming her bow. She loosed the arrow and it landed in the second ring, even farther off than her first shot. Though she voiced a disappointed “oh no,” she didn’t look nearly as dismayed as he would have expected her to. He should have been annoyed, he knew that, but he was too focused on ensuring that his last shot didn’t make him look as incompetent as his first two.

He began to draw his bow but before he could shoot she stopped him short. “Your elbow is too low,” she said as she walked up beside him and adjusted it gently, a thrill that he tried desperately to suppress running through him at her touch.

“Helping the competition, Inquisitor?” he asked softly, finding himself unable to contain his smile.

“Just making it fair. I want to see what you can do.”

He made his shot and the arrow stuck in the target, quivering - right in the center of the bullseye. The Inquisitor clapped and seemed nearly as excited as she had at her own shot, perhaps even moreso, then stood in front of him looking delighted.

He couldn't help but smile back. “I believe, despite that, you still win.”

“We should try again when we’re sober; it appears that the alcohol has affected both our aims.” It was generous of her to say both when she had quite obviously missed her final shot on purpose to spare his feelings.

She stared up at him, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Another man, someone who wasn't in his position, might have kissed her. But he was the Commander and she was the Inquisitor and it wouldn't work. Couldn't work. “You look good,” he said in a quiet, earnest tone, before hastily adding, “shooting a bow. You have good form.” Andraste preserve him, what had gotten into him. He clutched the back of his neck awkwardly.

She smiled and laughed softly. “You look good too. When you keep your elbow up.”

They walked inside the main hall and stood at the door leading to her quarters. Before she turned away to ascend to her room, he tenderly took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, pressing a light kiss upon it. He was no chevalier; displays of courtly love had always seemed ridiculous and without purpose and yet something had possessed him to do it anyway.

“Goodnight, Raynda,” he said as he let go, looking deeply into her beautiful green-blue eyes. Even in the darkness he noticed a flush spread across her face all the way to the pointed tips of her ears. It was her turn now to be speechless, he thought with an inward smugness.

“Goodnight, Cullen,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.


End file.
